


Appreciating the Demand

by MapleHere



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, Winry Rockbell-centric, beware "Aunt Pinako" since in 03 that's what they called her, like 5 years after or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleHere/pseuds/MapleHere
Summary: ~PRO/R*YED SHIPPERS DNI~Winry doesn’t have the semblance or composure to wave the child off―she can hardly string together a thought, let alone a sentence, but Ed doesn’t tease her as he does in her dreams.  He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t chuckle and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, doesn’t tut, tut, tut her for her lack of control.  He doesn’t even move except to shift the grip of his left hand from her fingers to her shoulder, his forehead still firmly pressed against hers.She keeps her eyes open this time, watches the way tears seem to leak freely from his own tightly-shut lids, the way his eyelashes clump together, the light dusting of freckles that crosses the bridge of his nose.  She tries her hardest to memorize the exact shade of his skin, tanned rather than sunburnt.  She keeps her eyes open for fear that closing them will end the moment, will wake her up, will send him back to a place she can never hope to see.~PRO/R*YED SHIPPERS DNI~
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Appreciating the Demand

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another fic where I make 03 Winry cry! This was written for the FMAnet February event centering around ships!
> 
> I really love the way 03 Winry's character comes across due to her poor characterization in the show, and that's something I absolutely love exploring. She comes across as a younger, sadder Riza who never had the military and the war to distract her from her own trauma and suffering, and as a result, she is very much codependent. 03 Winry is nearly as traumatized as the boys, especially following CoS-she was in the middle of that battlefield, too; she saw all the same death and dismay that the boys did that day, but she didn't have anyone to talk to about it afterward.
> 
> Anyway, 03 Winry is codependent as fuck and she deserves happiness thank you for coming to my TED talk
> 
> ALSO:  
> IF YOU SHIP ROY MUSTANG AND EDWARD ELRIC, YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK.

It’s stupid. Winry is well aware that it’s stupid. No one has ever told her so; no one in Resembool would ever be so cruel (the Elrics were their boys, too), but she knows exactly how stupid she is, spending each evening at the train station and waiting for the final train of the day. She waits for anything―a shock of gold against the black steel of the train cars, the familiar eyesore of that _damned_ red coat, the familiar _thunk-click-thunk-click_ of platform boots and poorly maintained automail, _anything_ ―hoping, _praying_ that they’ll both come home.

She knows, logically, that they’re a world away, that they made a very concerted effort to strand themselves somewhere utterly unreachable, that by waiting every night for _years_ she’s done nothing but trap herself in denial and stagnate her own grief. She knows that all she’s done is stretch out her own pain by disallowing herself to doubt them, but even so, they've done the impossible a half dozen times before; what’s stopping them from doing it again?

“Miss Winry!”

She blinks as she’s pulled from her thoughts and crochet, a small sigh leaving her when she realizes that she’s dropped a stitch. She lifts her gaze to search for the source of her distraction, a small smile lifting her lips as she finds it.

“Miss Winry!” A young boy waves frantically with a hand of her own design as he sprints toward her, and she can’t help the warmth of pride that blossoms in her chest.

“Kyle! How are you?” she asks, her smile growing just a tad. “Any more trouble with your fingers?”

“Miss Winry―I saw them! Your friends!” Kyle says, excited and winded as he stops in front of her and glances over his shoulder.

“Which ones?” Winry questions, raising an eyebrow and placing her hands on the boy’s shoulders to steady him. He’s still panting, seeming somewhat urgent as he looks at her again. “I’ve got a lot of those; you’ll have to be a little more specific.” She tries her best to keep her tone light; Kyle is only six, and he seems a tad overwhelmed by his own excitement―she doesn’t want him to think he’s in trouble.

“No, your _friends!”_ He reaches up and pulls at the neck of his shirt before wiping his face with the fabric.

Winry furrows her brows as she tries to understand what he means. Again, he’s only six. It’s not his fault that his statement lacks clarity, but she can tell that he’s getting frustrated. “Which friends, Kyle?”

The child huffs. "The―you―there's _pictures_ of them in your―at your _house."_

Her heart stops. _There's pictures of them in my house. Pictures in my house. Pictures._

She grips Kyle's arms tightly―probably a tad _too_ tightly―her face growing serious. "Where?"

"That way!" Kyle turns, breaking her hold on him and pointing in the direction he came from. She heeds his direction, eyes tracing up his arm and following the finger she built for him.

"Winry…"

Blue eyes meet gold, and her heart starts again, and she can feel herself choking already, can taste the snot coating the back of her throat, can _smell_ the oil on his jacket from her seat, but she can't bring herself to move for fear of shattering the illusion.

"This...this isn't real…" The words leave her before she realizes she's even thought them, and Edward takes a step toward her. "This _can't_ be real," she reiterates, unable to do anything but stare. _His suitcase. He doesn't have a suitcase,_ part of her realizes as Kyle fades into the background.

"It's real, Win," Ed responds, his own voice choked as he reaches her. He comes to a slow halt in front of her and just about _falls_ to the ground and kneels before her. His hands find her knees and squeeze, and she’s so busy taking in the detail of his eyebrows that she doesn’t realize she’s begun to cry.

“This can’t...this can’t be _real,”_ she repeats, no other words available.

“It’s _real.”_ Ed curls around her and presses his forehead into his own knuckles as he grips her knees tighter, tight enough to _hurt._ “It’s real, Winry, I _promise_ it’s real...it’s _so_ ...I’m _home.”_ The words escape him in a sob, but Winry can only stare as her best friend―the man she dedicated her life to _long_ before she could fully appreciate the demand―dissolves into a puddle of emotion before her.

“Al...Alphonse…” she manages, though she still doesn’t touch the blond, even as his grip becomes painful.

“With Aunt Pinako,” Ed breathes, lifting his head to reveal red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks.

She finally moves, then, and cups his face with both hands. His skin is hot, and swollen, and sticky with dried tears, but most of all...it’s _there._ “Ed…?” 

He lifts his gloved hands to hold hers against his face, and she _feels_ the cotton fabric as it catches the dry, cracked skin of her knuckles, as it snags against her hangnails and pulls. It’s _real._ He’s _real._ “I’m _home,_ Winry.”

“You’re...you’re _home,”_ she breathes, pressing her forehead against his firmly and closing her eyes as she takes in the way his bangs brush against her skin. She turns her hands in his to intertwine their fingers, holding on as tightly as she can and likely bruising her own fingers with the force of her grip against his automail.

“Kyle!” a voice shouts from somewhere in the distance, and Winry starts, having all but forgotten about the child.

She sniffles, turning her head to wipe her face against her shoulder as the boy hops up from the bench hurriedly and says, “Oh, shoot―the chickens! See ya, Miss Winry!”

Winry doesn’t have the semblance or composure to wave the child off―she can hardly string together a thought, let alone a sentence, but Ed doesn’t tease her as he does in her dreams. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t chuckle and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, doesn’t _tut, tut, tut_ her for her lack of control. He doesn’t even move except to shift the grip of his left hand from her fingers to her shoulder, his forehead still firmly pressed against hers.

She keeps her eyes open this time, watches the way tears seem to leak freely from his own tightly-shut lids, the way his eyelashes clump together, the light dusting of freckles that crosses the bridge of his nose. She tries her hardest to memorize the exact shade of his skin, tanned rather than sunburnt. She keeps her eyes open for fear that closing them will end the moment, will wake her up, will send him back to a place she can never hope to see.

She waits, and waits, and waits for some sort of cut, waits to blink and find herself in her living room, waits for a time jump to reveal the tell-tale teleportation of a dream, but it never comes. They stay that way until the sun begins to set, holding hands so tightly that her fingers have gone numb and leaning into each other so hard that they’ll both _definitely_ end up with bruises on their foreheads. A shiver travels through her as the autumn wind rushes past them, and Edward finally moves again.

He sniffles and smiles at her, eyes opening to reveal the brilliant gold she’s loved for as long as she can remember. “Let’s go home, Win.”

She blinks at him, taking in his dazzling smile and the bright red mark above his brow, and it finally hits her that this is _real_ ―or at least the closest she’ll ever get to it. If this _is_ a dream, she hopes it never, ever ends. She smiles back weakly and nods. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated! Thank you so much to my friends Liam (idiotwerewolf), Sarah (elricsyao), and Laney (Spud_Ladybug) for their help with this work! You can find them here on AO3 at those usernames, and you can find me on tumblr at maples-pages or rizathehawkseyehawkeye!


End file.
